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Tommy Caldwell came out to Ventura the other day to present and screen the movie A Line Across the Sky. If you haven’t seen it, A.L.A.S. is pretty much a home movie shot with a point-and-shoot by two of the world’s most accomplished rock climbers and then professionally edited into a bromance that happens to take place against the backdrop of the world’s most impressive alpine enchainment.

In the movie, Caldwell and his partner Alex Honnold (a master of stone but, we learn, an alpine gumby), traverse the ragged skyline of Cerro Fitz Roy and its satellite peaks in the monumental, weather-wracked wilds of Patagonia. Despite legendary prowess in the vertical realm, the duo is pushed into uncomfortable territory more than once, as when Caldwell must lead the half-frozen upper face of Fitz Roy with one ice tool in the dark, leaving Honnold, who is wearing approach shoes with ill-fitting, borrowed crampons, to follow.

At work the next day, my friend asked me how I liked the movie. I explained that my attention was riveted to the screen throughout, which doesn’t often happen with climbing movies these days. Then he asked me if I’d done much alpine climbing. No, I explained, the suffering and danger quotient had always been too high for my taste. Complex body movement, a peaceful communion with nature, and the social aspects of climbing have long been my prime motivators; as such, I tend to prefer sport to trad and bouldering to big wall.

As we talked, I realized how bright the line has been for me: key elements of alpine climbing like complex logistics, prolonged period of extreme physical discomfort, and numerous objective hazards, hold no appeal. But to my fiends who excel in the mountains these are part of the attraction.

I find it fascinating the distance between one type of climber from the next: alpinists and gym climbers, low-angle traddies and red-point obsessed sportos—at times, it can feel like we’re different species. Perhaps that’s why it’s so hard to use the label “climber” to say anything valuable, or to explain what’s so great about climbing. After all, the answer is different from group to group and person to person. Rare is the true “all-arounder” who relishes all types of climbing at once, perhaps because each style has certain core elements that cut across a few sub-disciplines, but rarely all.

As I pondered such frivolities, I drew in my notebook a little matrix of climbing styles and their particular attractions. Then I went ahead and put together a “handy” online quiz to help identify the types of climbing that best suit your particular tastes. I have no idea if it will work for you. Give it a try and let me know…

In case you haven’t noticed, climbing memes are SHRN. Less than six months ago, an Instagram account called Rawk Tawk started posting climbing memes commenting on and lampooning various goings on in the climbing scene. They have already garnered more than 12,000 followers. Another climbing meme account, Rockclimbingprobs, has cultivated similar visibility. My friend Brendan ocassionally has fun with climbing and outdoor memes on his blog.

Like emoji and animated GIFs, memes have become a staple of internet communication. At their best, they offer biting, hilariously accurate micro-insights into life, luck, and human nature; at their worst, they’re dumb and don’t make any sense. Most fall somewhere in the middle, causing us to LOL due to their purposeful inanity and shallow humor.

Side note: what I’m calling memes here are more accurately referred to as “image macros,” a subset of internet memes comprised of “captioned images that typically consist of a picture and a witty message or a catchphrase.” The images overtop of which people write text often grow to become popular internet memes, such as Good Guy Greg, Bad Luck Brian, and Ermahgerd Girl. But “meme” is far more commonly used and understood than “image macro” and for our purposes here will do just fine.

All that said, here’s how you, too, can create a climbing meme in four easy steps:

1. Find a picture

You can source a climbing-specific picture if you like, but it’s not necessary. Some of the funniest climbing memes use the same stock images as memes of a more general ilk. If you want to use one of the web’s many popular meme characters, you can use the tool on imgflip.com or other meme-generating sites. If you choose to create your own meme, be sure to use the right font: Impact, in white with a black outline. Here’s a tutorial on how to do it right, because Sharma forbid you use Futura or Comic Sans—that would be embarrassing.

2. Think of something funny that only climbers understand

The thing that makes a good climbing meme is that it speaks in a code that climbers will understand. For example, that guy at the gym (maybe it’s you?!) who just can’t keep his sequence straight, or the fun that isn’t when you’re waiting in isolation at a climbing competition, or the special padding needed for a certain well-known crag. It’s a fine line though. Get too specific or too personal and you’re bound to lose people. But maybe that’s OK—better to slay it with a niche audience than bore the masses.

3. Write funny thing over top of picture

The typical meme uses two lines of text, one at the top and one at the bottom of the image. In this configuration, the top line is the set-up and the bottom line the delivery. Of course, it’s not necessary to structure your memes this way. Some only have one line of text, others multiple, others no text at all. The most important thing is that the image and the words must clearly connect and reinforce each other in some way. A weak or simplistic connection between the image content and the tone of the words will result in a fail.

4. Post to internets

This part is important. Memes are like genes; ones adapted to their environments will replicate and flourish. But to spread they need a medium. Thus, the interweb, with its billions-strong reach. When you make a meme on a site like imgflip, it becomes public (unless you choose to keep it private) at which point users can up or down-vote it, increasing or decreasing visibility. Social sites and forums like Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Reddit, mountainproject.com further help your meme spread (replication), where others may riff on it (mutation). Or not. It’s important to remember that your meme, while it may seem a precious nugget of genius to your biased eye, is probably not that funny to other people. That’s OK—memes are free and easy to make, and as with anything, practice makes perfect.

As for the why of climbing memes? That’s something you’ll have to answer for yourself. Good luck…

I have a question for you. Are you ready? OK, here it is: What is your Own Personal Mount Everest? I have another question: What did you answer? Never mind; it doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, these socks will help you to climb it. Yes, you can conquer your equivalent of the world’s highest, most important, most valuable mountain in some other socks… but why would you? Our socks are authentic and wick away sweat while keeping you warm, but won’t cause blisters, wear out, or discolor the skin of your feet. They will not cause dysentery, like other sock brands, or lead you to question your self-worth.

The truth is, there are No Bad Days in the Mountains™. In the mountains you can find your inner self, hiding huddled in a snow cave, cold and alone, and swaddle him or her in this jacket made of our new ultralight fabric woven from the soft hairs surrounding the blowhole of albino narwhals. This supple yet durable textile is 331% more adventure resistant than any natural fiber known to science. Once you’ve swaddled your inner self, he or she will arise as if woken from a long slumber and stride out onto the frozen slopes, shimmering with moonlit hoar-frost, to ascend to the summit of ultimate understanding. (MSRP $499.95.)

How many times have you found yourself at your desk eating lunch over your keyboard and silently weeping? This is because life as you’ve lived it up until now has been a hollow farce. Quit your job! Set off into the unknown! Follow your heart; like a dowsing rod calibrated for pure adventure, it will lead you to a place where all of your questions will be answered and the mundane crust of life will fall like scales from your eyes. To make this transformative journey, you’ll want MaxoRay® brand sunglasses, which not only block 99% of harmful UV radiation, but also allow you to view formerly invisible wavelengths, penetrating the superficial layers of reality and revealing the gem-like core of existence. They also come with a microfiber pouch that doubles as a cleaning cloth.

Lao Tzu said, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,” but if you’re going that far, you’re going to need the best footwear. Luckily, these shoes were designed by NASA scientists working with our elite athlete team specifically to carry you on a vision quest to meet the you you always fantasized you could be. While wearing these shoes, you will be rendered physically incapable of binge watching Netflix original programming. They will compel you to move! They have soles rated to carry you at least as far as happiness but possibly all the way to Nirvana.

But these pants aren’t just technological wonders fit for the most extreme conditions you might encounter in Nepal, on the PCT, or deep in the cactus-needled expanses of the Mojave—they’re also perfect for a night at the bar, tossing back craft beers with other lean, sun-kissed travelers with knowing eyes and possibly beards. With a patented, four-way stretch, non-toxic, fair trade fabric and riveted pockets that pay homage to our unique brand’s storied heritage, these are more than just pants, they’re an indispensable garment with a timeless look and money-back guarantee.

Back in my Urban Climber days, I wrote a feature called “The Rise of the Super Gyms.” It was about new climbing gyms that were sprouting up around the country and taking the indoor scene to a “higher level” (get it?!). The trend, in its early phases then, is now well underway and huge, custom-built, professionally operated climbing and fitness facilities are becoming the norm rather than the exception. Today, 20,000, 30,000, even 40,000-square-foot facilities are appearing across the country, sometimes in areas far from rock and far from the pre-existing climbing communities that once served as a gym’s customer base.

When I lived in Boulder and Salt Lake City, I was lucky enough to frequent such “super gyms,” with their fancy workout decks (this treadmill has a fan?), yoga rooms, and highfalutin air-conditioners that worked, even on hot days. They were plush and almost always busy. Their holds were new and clean (can you say jug rash). Their tall, steep walls created inhumanly strong youngsters and demoralized n00bs and out-of-shape old timers. Such gyms are clearly the future, but at the same time, they’re missing something that the old-ass gyms we used to climb at had in spades. I guess you’d call it guts.

“It’s got everything you need: free weights, punching bags, a steam room, fat guy with a mop,” thus spake Staten Islander Danny Castellano, describing his boxing gym on an episode of The Mindy Project I watched last week. It reminded me of the way I grew up thinking of working out. Basically, the more rustic the set-up, the tougher you could get. Think: Rocky doing heavy bag work on a side of beef in a meat locker, Alexander Karelin running through waist deep snow in Siberia, Marky Mark bench pressing cinderblocks in an abandoned factory. Thus, a frilly, high-tech climbing gym was at best frivolous, at worst a place where a Russian super villain might climb / get injections of an experimental gene drug for cheaters that rendered him unstoppable on crimper dynos.

There’s just something about the old-ass gym that invites you to get strong. It challenges you, makes you uncomfortable, forces you to adapt. The holds are often sharp or tweaky, the setting uneven and full of random, shoulder-wrenching moves, even on easier climbs. The lighting is poor—brightly spotlit in some areas and shadowy in others, making it hard to discern the color of the chalk-faded tape (whatever tape, that is, hasn’t already peeled off and attached itself to your shoe).

And the feet—oh the feet! They are slick as hoarfrosted cobblestones on a riverbank, their once-candylike colors layered over with a mirrored black shellack of sticky rubber. These are part of the training though. Master the use of footholds like these, the likes of which exist only on the most trafficked outdoor routes, and you’ll become a subtle god of friction.

The old-ass gym also has a soundtrack. Maybe you remember it? Usually a mixture of grunge (Nirvana, Soundgarden, STP) and classic rock (Led Zeppelin, The Stones, Hendrix), with a handful of rap hits (Ice Cube, Dr. Dre, Outkast). In the original old-ass gyms, they just turned on the local FM rock station and let it ride, or had a 6-CD changer set to random. (Later, people plugged in their clickwheel iPods.)

There are weights in the back—an eclectic mix of dumbbells and barbells and floating plates picked up at yard sales. Next to them, some sort of cardio machine, but it doesn’t have a fan or a TV screen. Maybe it has a heart rate monitor that doesn’t work and a squeaky belt deep inside that sounds like a frantic gerbil trying to escape. Any workout implements not used frequently are coated in a quarter-inch of dust. There is a poster on the wall taken from an old issue of Climbing, back when it was 180 pages per issue and had Rolex ads in it. There is a sign that says “Must be 18 or older to enter the workout room.”

Nothing is handed to you on a silver platter at the old-ass gym. This is where people like Todd Skinner and Jim Karn and Tony Yaniro trained. And if you’re too young to know these names, trust me when I say they were more hardcore than you. The regulars at the old-ass gym are there because they love climbing deep down, even when no one else in the world is watching or cares. They say adversity builds bonds between people, and the old-ass gym supports this theory; scrappy climbing crews formed in old-ass gyms seem to have a stickiness that is lacking in fancier establishments.

I recently moved to a small, coastal California town where you’re about 20 times more likely to meet a surfer than a climber. There’s one gym in the area and it feels like an old-ass gym. When I first checked it out, I was a little panicked. I had grown accustomed to the niceties of places like Momentum, in Salt Lake City, or Movement, in Boulder. I wanted setting that was comfortable to the joints and grades that were easy on the ego. I expected a hot face towel to start things off, and lavender scented lotion in the locker room. In short, I’d grown soft.

Luckily, this old-ass gym has everything I need: a few thousand square feet of climbing terrain, some hang boards, an old treadmill and Exercycle, some open floor space to do push-ups and sit-ups and squats, and a loading-bay door in back that opens to let the air in. When the breeze blows and you close your eyes, it’s almost like you’re outside…

Here at The Stone Mind, one of our core missions is to shine the unwavering light of scientific research into the darkest corners of the climbing universe. We wish to show things that perhaps would not be evident to the untrained eye. Here, we’ve used the most current sociological methods and also recent exciting developments in big data mining to create new insights and bring them to you in the form of these handy infographics…

What are we doing at the climbing gym?

In a five-year longitudinal study following over 10,000 climbers who frequent the gym one or more times per week, and whose ages, genders, and socioeconomic status run the gamut, we found that the most common climbing gym activity, by a large margin, is socializing, and that a wide variety of non-climbing activities account for the lion’s share of the average individual’s time.

Relative likelihood of dropping a piece of climbing gear

Adding nuance to Murphy’s Law, which states “Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong,” we present this near-perfect linear relationship between the critical nature of a piece of climbing gear and the likelihood that said piece of gear will be dropped. Therefore, if you will need to perform many rappels, you are likely to drop your belay device. If you are facing a long section of technical ice on your summit bid, chances are good that you’ll bobble one or both ice tools. On the other hand, virtually no one will ever drop their Nipple Portable Bluetooth™ Speaker.

Trends in climbing fashion over time

The style trends of the modern climber have changed considerably since the 1970s, but as this chart shows, certain items (Spandex pants, headbands or bandanas, and tank tops, for example) are making a strong return to favor. For those who want to stay ahead of the fashion curve, these figures also indicate it might be time to get those work pants and rugby shirts out at the crag again.

Master Chuck

Chuck Odette managed the demo gear fleet for Petzl’s national events. This meant that our sales rep force would contact Chuck to request demo harnesses, helmets, and headlamps for events like the Ouray Ice Fest or the Red River Rendezvous. Chuck was notoriously meticulous when it came to scheduling, and he was frustrated to no end when stuff didn’t make it back to Petzl HQ in time for the next event.

One year, at a sales meeting, Chuck stood up and made a demonstration to impress on the sales reps the consequences of not returning gear on time: he had me hold up a thick pine board while he punched it in two with perfect karate form. Those reps would think twice before delaying a return shipment again…

Chuck was in his mid-50s then, yet he had the physique of an athletic 30-year-old. His sandy blond hair was long and he tied it back into a ponytail when he practiced yoga poses and karate katas at lunch. It was around this time that I started to equate Chuck with legendary caucasian martial arts movie star Chuck Norris.

Last week, at the age of 59 and after twelve years at Petzl, Chuck retired. Unlike your average retiree, however, Chuck sold his house in Ogden, Utah, gussied up a Scamp camper trailer, and hit the road with his wife Maggie on a quest to climb (and bolt) hard sport routes.

For his retirement party, I put together some memes based on the famous Chuck Norris Facts that have been circulating on the web for the past decade or so. I didn’t write any of the facts in the memes below; I just copy/pasted and switched out “Odette” for “Norris”—they seemed to work just as well. I think they do a lot to capture this hard-climbing, karate kicking grandpa’s badass personality and sense of humor.

Astronauts explore the cliffs of Mars. Painting for NASA by Pat Rawlings.

Most long-term predictions about the future are terribly inaccurate, even when made by intelligent people with a good view of history and the current landscape of the topic at hand. Then again, sometimes the most absurd predictions come to pass. Basically, when it comes to painting a picture of things to come, it’s a crapshoot. It is in the spirit of wild speculation that I bring you 11 predictions about the future of rock climbing. What do you expect to see in the next 10, 20, or even 100 years?

People forget the rocks. Due to increasingly turbulent weather patterns (“global weirdening”), worsening pollution, increasingly restrictive land-use laws (thanks to a combination of overuse problems and liability), and the proliferation of super-gyms, outdoor climbing rates actually begin to drop, despite a quadrupling of the total climbing population.

Clean climbing 2.0. New reactive super-adhesives that can be activated and deactivated at the push of a button allow climbers to place “removable” pro pretty much anywhere with no ill effects to the rock. Likewise, a new bio-degradable chalk substance that evaporates after and hour in contact with stone makes traces of human passage far less evident. Purists are confused by such new developments and suggest that in fact it’s the lowering of the challenge to fit our limitations that is the main problem, not the marring of the rock.

Gravity can suck it. The discovery of gravity-diminishing materials makes carrying gear to and from the crag a whole lot easier. In the Himalaya, the Sherpa community suffers a slowdown in business as visitors can now carry up to 500 pounds each of gear. Ethics debates rage around the appropriate use of these materials in climbing contexts.

The first route on Mars. In the year 2032, the first viable Mars colony officially opens its doors to Earthlings interested in a serious change of scenery. In 2035, a climber named Maria Alverez from New LA makes the journey to Mars Colony Beta (aka Big Red), where she makes an ascent of the sheer 4000 meter cliffs at Echus Chasma. A bold feat in Earth gravity, she succeeds on her first attempt due to the significantly weaker gravitational field on Mars.

Sticky rubber body pads. The invention of sticky rubber shoes in the 1930s and sticky rubber knee pads in the 1990s leads eventually to the sticky rubber body suits of the 2020s. Now climbers can use every part of their bodies to gain purchase on the rock, leading to more creative resting possibilities. New techniques like arm-wedging, chest-scumming, and “starfishing” become the norm, and most of the climbs at Rifle are immediately downgraded again.

Comps are America’s pastime. Climbing finally makes it into the Olympics in multiple events, including bouldering, sport climbing, ice climbing, speed climbing, hangboarding, and a new parkour/climbing hybrid known as “free style.” Nike jumps on board. Kids get climbing scholarships to top tier universities. Stadiums are erected to house the wild new climbing structures, which can be reconfigured instantly using an iWatch app. Viewership of National Climbing League Championships exceeds Super Bowl and World Cup viewership. Merchandising goes off the hook (the most popular energy drink is called “Crimp Juice,” while its top competitor is “Sloperade”) and endorsement deals for top-level competition athletes reach into the hundreds of millions of bitcoins.

A dark side emerges. Now that stakes are higher, people find new ways to cheat: anti-gravity pellets sewn into harnesses; nano-bot “chalk” that forms molecular bonds with the rock; genetic doping… . Gambling and corruption scandals become the norm. Climbers “throw” the comps in exchange for massive payoffs. The National Climbing Association is formed to monitor and enforce the rules of the game, but it’s ruled by an authoritarian regime that’s rife with its own transgressions.

The sport grows younger. Climbing 5.14 or even V14 by age 14 is no longer a big deal. In fact, in 2023, a five-year-old flashes Just Do It, Smith Rock’s iconic 5.14c, after his dad jokingly tells him his binky is up there. As competition becomes increasingly lucrative, parents start their little rock jocks earlier and earlier. Climbing moms replace soccer moms. Kids are placed on strict Zone diets and encouraged to practice their one-arms while doing homework.

Robot climbing is a thing. Climbing bot battles become popular on the Internets as engineers design ingenious machines that can solve complex three-dimensional movement puzzles in unexpected ways. In 2035, the first climbing bot incorporating artificial intelligence is deemed a sentient being and allowed to enter a World Cup comp. The bot wins easily and in 2036 robots are banned from World Cup competitions. A Non-Human Climbing Series is quickly formed to accommodate them.

The more things change. Despite all the changes, all the attention and the money, the new technology and trends, many people still just climb for the joy of it. Same as it ever was.

My friend Brendan recently wrote a great blog about how to make the people trapped with you on a ski-lift feel uncomfortable. I haven’t skied in a while, but I could sympathize, maybe because I’ve been around a fair number of people in the gym who’ve created a cringe-worthy dynamic. If you want to be one of those people, whether for fun or for serious, here are 12 tips for making things in the climbing gym uncomfortable. (Add your own tips in the comments!):

1. Play the shadowing game

Pick someone and follow them around the gym climbing all the same routes or problems. Hop on the second they finish. Never say anything to the climber you’re shadowing, but eye contact is OK. Make sure to put your stuff down near the climber so he or she can see you at all times. Beware, shadowing a member of the opposite sex can easily be construed as a form of stalking (which it kind of is).

2. Fart while climbing

In his blog, Brendan mentioned passing gas on the chairlift, which is great because you have a captive audience. While we’re typically not in such close quarters in the gym, letting a ripper slip while making a dynamic move can be a great way to put everyone within earshot in a funny position. Do they laugh or hold their tongues? Key here is frequency: the more air biscuits you free from the oven, the better. Meanwhile, you must never acknowledge the sounding of your butt trumpet under any circumstances.

Bonus points: After a particularly loud peal of brown thunder, sprint directly to the bathroom.

3. Give creepy beta

Stand as close as possible to the climber and in an aggressive whisper say things like, “Yeeeeaaah buddy… you got this man, you so got this. Oooooh yeah, that next hold looks sweeeeet… you’re gonna get it… you’re gonna stick that hold soon goooooooood… .”

Bonus points: Give creepy beta while offering a touchy feely spot on the bouldering wall, or even while climbing on a route directly adjacent.

4. Climb with your shirt off

For the sake of your fellow patrons and all that is decent, many gyms have asked respectfully that you climb fully clothed. To make things awkward, remove your shirt and stand conspicuously next to any signage asking you to please not remove your shirt. Then get yourself all sweaty through climbing, deep knee bends, burpies, etc., and lay down on the mats, making big “sweat angels.”

Bonus points: “Accidentally” bump up against other climbers with your bare, clammy back skin.

5. Clip your nails

Keeping your nails in check is important in climbing, but we all know it’s also totes gross to watch those funky little slivers come flying off of a stranger’s toes. That’s why you should sit yourself down in the middle of the floor where everybody is climbing and start snipping away. Being sure to leave your trimmings scattered about like so many crescent moons. Ignore the incredulous stares.

Bonus points: Bring a full mani-pedi kit, including files, pumice stone, and cuticle trimmer, and go to town.

6. Give hugs

Whenever someone sends a route or shows any kind of excitement about their performance on the wall, run over and give them a big hug. Combine this with tip No. 4 for maximum effect.

Bonus points: Ask them if they want to go get milk and cookies after, to celebrate.

7. Fight with your significant other

Nothing puts people on edge faster than a PDRT (public display of relationship turmoil). Whatever frustrations you have with the person you’re currently snogging, be sure to air them in a room full of strangers. Don’t like the way your S.O. belays? Or the fact that he or she would rather say “Take!” than take a fall? Or maybe you just import your random disagreements from home (uncapped toothpaste tubes, unwillingness to do the dishes, etc.) to the rock wall and have it out mid-climb.

Bonus points: Bring your kids with you to the gym and give them a hard time when they get scared and want to come down from the wall, telling them to “tough it out” even though they are clutching at the brontosaurus-shaped holds and sobbing / blowing snot bubbles.

Bonus points: Tote a large bottle of alcohol-based hand-sanitizer gel and wander around offering people “a squirt for hygiene.”

11. Compare anatomy

What’s your “ape index”? How big are your hands? Whose forearms or shoulder muscles are bigger? These questions and others like them are a great way to catch a stranger off his or her guard. Simply walk up to two or more people and identify one of them to compare body parts with. Ask the other one to be a judge. Often, this will involve physical contact of some sort. Comparing wingspans, for examples, requires two people standing back-to-back and stretching their arms as wide as possible.

Bonus points: Talk people into having pull-up, push-up, sit-up, or breath-holding contests.

During a trip to Maine’s Acadia National Park, I decided to do a little bouldering. I brought one of the new Petzl pads from the office—it’s a standard mid-sized pad in outward appearance, but it’s also bright orange and emblazoned with a sizable Petzl logo. Its highly visible color scheme might have factored into the onslaught of questions with which passing tourists pelted me, most of them a variation of What’s that thing on your back?

I’ve bouldered for 20 years now and have been asked this question hundreds of times, so I probably shouldn’t be surprised when yet another stranger stops to gape at my admittedly Spongebob-like form… but I am. Every time I try to answer, I feel myself getting frustrated. Invariably, the curious person’s face grows more, not less, confused as I offer my explanation:

“Excuse me, but what is that thing on your back?” Asks the well-meaning passerby.

“It’s a pad. We put it on the ground when we’re rock climbing,” I’ll say.

“Oh, so you use it instead of a rope?”

“Not really. We’re climbing really short rocks, so when we fall, we just fall on the pads.”

“Oh, that sounds dangerous.”

“It’s not really dangerous. We’re usually only five or 10 feet off the ground…”

“So you’re practicing for bigger climbs, then?”

By this time, the futility of the conversation has started to sink in. To explain the intricacies of the various types of climbing is a surprisingly complex endeavor. Believe it or not, the differences between gym climbing, bouldering, sport climbing, trad cragging, ice climbing, big walling, and alpinism aren’t widely known or even intuitively grasped by the layperson. For most, the Alex Honnold profile on 60 Minutes and maybe the movie Vertical Limit comprise their only climbing reference points.

In an effort to shorten the length of such trail encounters, my friends and I have devised a list of short responses that, while patently false, might offer enough of an explanation (or create sufficient bewilderment) to allow us to plod on towards our little projects on little rocks. Following are 10 favorites (but I’d love it if you’d offer your own in the comments section)…

What’s That Thing on Your Back? 10 Answers:

A portable massage table.

Folded up hang glider—we’re hiking up to the top of this hill to jump off and fly back down.

It’s just a big backpack. I like to have my bases covered while out on a hike.

A sleeping mat for camping. Way more comfortable than those little roll-up ones!

We’re training for the world stair-climbing championships, and walking trails with unwieldy 200-pound squares on our back has been shown to be the most effective way to improve quad and glute strength.

It’s a parachute; I’m a BASE jumper!

This a pad for climbing. We wear them on our backs while we climb big cliffs. If we fall, we try to lean back and land pad-first, so we don’t get hurt.

Oh, these? These are components of a large robot, which my friends and I will assemble when we get out far enough into the woods.

It’s a dog bed… hey, where is my dog? Oh damn, she was here a minute ago! Peaches! Where are you Peaches?!

This is a trail rickshaw seat. For 20 bucks, I’ll give you a ride to the next viewpoint. Hop on!

My friend Rick told me he planned to get a Sportsmobile, a converted van with features like four-wheel drive, sleeping accommodations for four, a heating system with thermostat, even a water tank complete with outdoor shower attachment. It’s basically a pint-sized RV with serious off-road capabilities. Even used, Sportsmobiles aren’t cheap, but it’s worth it to Rick because that’s the way he spends his free time. For me, a Sportsmobile would be overkill. I love to get out, but my wife and I are more day-trippers, only camping occasionally. We drive a Honda Element, which allows plenty of room for gear and crashpads, and allows us a place to sleep in relative comfort without setting up a tent and inflating our sleeping pads.

The longer I spend in the climbing world, the more roadtripmobile options I see, each suited to a particular need or lifestyle. Popped tops, raised sleeping platforms, tailgate cabana tent attachments, etc. On the modest end of the spectrum, you’ll find people who sleep in pretty much any vehicle. (I spent several seasons crashing in the parking lot of Miguel’s Pizza in my Honda Accord, rear seats folded forward and feet shoved into the trunk.) On the extreme other end lies the 52-foot long all-terrain mobile command truck called the KiraVan, brainchild of Bran Ferren, former R&D head for Disney’s Imageneering Department. Most of us fall in the middle.

To help you find the roadtripmobile that suits your needs, dear reader, I’ve put together this handy decision tree. May it help lead you to the right-sized vehicle of your road-tripping dreams… sort of.

I stood in front of the mirror and sighed.What am I doing? I wondered aloud. I was flashing back to those days in middle school where there was a very real possibility that one of my peers would point at me and call me a loser just because of the clothes I was wearing. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead as I pictured the reactions waiting for me at the Outdoor Retailer Show when it became clear that I was on the wagon, so to speak, a tartan teetotaler—that I had, in fact, gone plaid free.

As I entered the great bustling halls of the Salt Palace, I felt the gazes of hundreds of horrified show-goers fall on me as I walked past. In my cocoon of self-consciousness, I tripped over a small wiener dog following his owner across the aisle. As I was now on his level, the nub-legged canine approached me, cautious and sniffing. One look at my solid blue, short-sleeved, collared shirt with a finely embroidered flock of birds swirling on the shoulder, and the creature started to yap at me and back away in fear. His owner, wearing a plaid shirt and mismatched plaid shorts, turned to see what the fuss was about. A look of anger and confusion crisscrossed his face before he turned in a huff, as if to say, Come along, Denali, he’s not even worth it.

I sat stunned for a minute as the plaid-patterned world swirled around me, whelmed up over me, disoriented me with its many colors and designs. Just then, a dear friend who I hadn’t seen since last year’s show grabbed me by the elbow and hoisted me to my feet.

“Hey J,” he said jovially. “Not rocking the plaid this year, I see! Good move—plaid is played.”

It took a moment for me to tighten up my slack jaw and shake the anxiety from my eyes, but once I did so, I was amazed to see that my friend wore a dark grey shirt with little campfires printed all over it. And then to his right I spotted a plain black shirt, and a green one with pale stripes over there. Was that an acid-washed denim that flitted in the distance? I couldn’t be sure. The more I looked, the more I noticed the anti-plaids—still only a small percentage of the crowd, sure, but a significant one. I wasn’t alone, after all. Proudly plaidless, my friend and I headed over to the Royal Robbins booth to wait in a long line for a free latte.

From a purely logistical standpoint, it wasn’t easy to make it through the show (four days) without wearing a plaid shirt. My employer’s liberal dress code excluded only a few items of clothing, but alongside shorts (especially of the cargo variety) and Crocs, T-shirts were also on the non grata list. Having worked in the outdoor industry for over a decade, my non-T-shirt wardrobe is limited, but by counting out plaid, my options ran dangerously low.

On day three, I thought for sure I wouldn’t be able to make it. After spending a full 20 minutes gazing dead-eyed into my closet wondering if a v-neck was OR-appropriate, I went digging through boxes of old, forgotten garments. There, I found that tank top with horizontal stripes I’d purchased in an effort to fit in while bouldering at The Spot. I found an old rayon shirt with a mondo collar I got at a thrift store for a ’70’s party. I found my childhood bolo tie collection and a bunch of drab old long-sleeved dress shirts I used to wear to my first office job. No dice.

Finally, in the back of my closet, hidden behind a fluffy wall of down jackets and fleece hoodies, I uncovered a pair of collared, polo-style shirts that I’d long-since forgotten. Maybe it was the mustard stains and moth holes that prompted me to stash them out of sight, but flaws be damned, I was happy to see them. I pulled them free with glee, leaving my thick swath of plaid button-ups hanging. My audacious plans for a plaid-free show seemed suddenly attainable.

As day four drew to a close, I strolled among the booths with a sense of accomplishment. I’d stuck to my guns and come out the other side. Plaid, it turns out, isn’t required OR Show attire. In fact, a small but growing anti-plaid trend has already taken root in the outdoor industry.

For the time being, most outdoorsy guys’ closets look like mine, and so we can expect to see a strong plaid presence for at least the next three to five years. But as the practical, wicking, wrinkle-free cotton/poly blends of those old plaids grows threadbare, I have a feeling they’ll be replaced not with more of the same, but with some other pattern, or lack of a pattern, or who knows what. Maybe the plaid of the future is some pattern that hasn’t even been invented yet! Whatever it is, I can’t wait to see it…

Climbing tends to attract some pretty die-hard personality types. Once people get the climbing bug, it can expand until it crowds out many of the once-important components of a healthy, well-balanced life, such as relationships, eduction, jobs, even hygiene. But sometimes, just sometimes, life circumstances are such that climbing becomes impossible for a period of time. When this happens, whether due to workload, family vacation, or injury, climbers exhibit telltale behaviors that can ultimately only be remedied by the sweet caress of stone. Following are eight of these symptoms of climbing deprivation. Any others I’m forgetting? Add ’em in the comments.

1. Generalized anger

When I was a kid, I would get upset whenever I was hungry—I could barely enjoy anything and basically felt like crying all the time. Back then, it was just called being a baby, but now this state of hunger-induced grumpiness is referred to as being “hangry.” Similarly, climbers deprived of their Precious have been known to exhibit snarkiness, impatience, and outright rudeness. You might call such a person “clangry.” One afternoon of climbing can temporarily alleviate clangriness for several days, as many climbers’ significant others are well aware.

2. Fitness dysmorphic disorder

In as little as three days without some serious pullin’ down, a climber can develop a warped self-image. Perceived physiological changes include: fatness, smaller forearm and shoulder muscles, total loss of both power and endurance, and a sloughing off of hard-earned finger calluses.

3. Restless finger syndrome

In cases where there is no damage to the digits, climbers who can’t climb have been observed to direct undue amounts of attention towards their fingers, stretching, cracking, and picking at them with as much as 73% greater frequency. Perhaps in response to the perceived decline in fitness as described above, it is also common to attempt to pinch, crimp, or hang from any load-bearing (or, with hilarious/dramatic effects, non-load-bearing) structure within eyeshot. The compulsive use of foam stress balls and other grip-builders is a surefire sign of RFS.

4. Climbing vicariously

Thanks to the Internet, climbing-deprived climbers can access limitless flows of videos, blogs, trip reports, Instagrams, Facebook photo galleries, and even tweets from fellow climbers who have been lucky enough to get out and sample some of the good stuff. While this behavior can temporarily reduce vertical cravings in some, it can actually exacerbate them in others, leading to feelings of resentment and exclusion.

5. Hallucinations

In extreme cases, there have been reports of out-of-body experiences. One climber recalled being overwhelmed by a vision of himself floating face up, hovering across a field of talus under the shadow of Half Dome, “like Maximus in that movie The Gladiator.” Other times the hallucinations are purely auditory, as was the case with one Colorado-based climber left unable to climb after breaking his collarbone in a snowboarding accident. For several weeks, he was surprised by a disembodied voice shouting, “Stick it!” and “Allez!” while he performed even the most mundane tasks, such as moving the laundry from the washer to the dryer, or picking up milk at the store.

6. Substitution

Depending on the reason for restricted access to climbing, the obsessive climber personality type can sometimes seek out another, similarly addictive activity such a surfing, mountain biking, or crossfit (aka “jumparound”). Once a sufficient skill level and social network has been established, the new activity can actually supplant climbing as the prime motivator.

7. Compulsive gear fiddling

In lieu of actual climbing, the deprived often turn to the organization and maintenance of the equipment used for climbing. Time to wash that rope, oil those cams, clean the dirt and chalk of those stinky old rock shoes with a damp towel… . Studies have shown that mere exposure to powdered chalk can stimulate brain regions associated with climbing.

8. Simulation

Desperate climbers attempting to reconnect with their preferred lifestyle have been known to sleep in the yard, live primarily off of tinned sardines and power bars, and forgo showering for long periods of time. Likewise, alpinists stranded in warm, flat environments have been seen running up and down stairs with packs full of household items, or even sticking their faces in the freezer, in an attempt to simulate that brisk feeling of near-frostbite typical of high-alpine environments.

CINCINNATI, OH — After pulling at the climbing wall with great visible effort, the guy hogging the third toprope from the left sat back down into his harness having made no visible upward progress, sources confirmed.

“This guy’s ignoring the three-hang rule, that’s for sure,” said eyewitness Jeff Horvath, 32, adding that the man, who had a belay device and pair of gloves clipped to his harness for absolutely no reason had the worst footwork he had ever seen and that there was no way he was going to finish the route before the gym closed and everyone had to go home for the night.

“I could have climbed this route literally three times by now,” said Horvath. “I think this guy is actually making negative progress.”

At press time, the climber had gone in direct to a quickdraw about one-third of the way up the wall and was eating a protein bar.

BOULDER, CO — It was a feeling that had been weighing on Brendan Slater’s conscience for some time, but this Saturday, the weight became too much bear. “What does it really matter if I send my project?” Slater said. “At the end of the day, climbing just seems so meaningless… so selfish.”

Slater, who works at the local sub shop in order to maintain a flexible schedule for climbing, admitted scaling vertical surfaces has for years served as his primary source of fulfillment and self-worth, but that he began to wonder about the ultimate significance of his passion after finding a deer carcass on the hike up to the crag to work on his project.

“I just sort of stared down at that deer’s skull and its bones and those tufts of fur and thought, ‘That could be me,’” Slater explained, adding that the world seemed suddenly like a very big and cold place, and really what else do we have in this life but our good works and our compassion for our fellow humanity, you know?

In an effort to assuage the existential void that gripped him while gazing into the deer’s vacant eye sockets, Slater sought council from a local pastor, who recommended volunteering to help those less fortunate.

“That didn’t feel like the right way to go, either,” Slater said. “I feel like that’s just as selfish, because I’d only be doing it to feel better. I’d still be looking out just for me.”

Huge numbers of people will try climbing for the first timein the years to come. Statistically speaking, most will have their first flirtation with the vertical world in a gym, while a percentage of these will go on to specialize in just one or two of climbing’s many sub-disciplines: sport, trad, alpinism, what have you. If you’re a n00b, you’ve probably already wondered, “Which type of climbing is right for me?” Rather than wasting your time trying a bunch of dead-end genres, use this handy decision tree to find the style that best suits your personality.

I’m very pleased to share with you the first (but hopefully not the last) guest post on The Stone Mind. This one from a friend and writer Ian Mathias, who knows a thing or two about getting gripped.

Are you a downhill skier, a climber, a mountain biker, or just the type of person whose hobby involves frequent moments of gripping fear? If so, I challenge you to watch the little lady in this video squirm and not get a full-blown flashback—not just to childhood, but probably to sometime in the last few weeks:

Two million views and counting. It’s a cute story, and an inspiring one, too. But I venture to guess that what gets people sharing this video has as much to do with a sympathetic connection, a certain fellowship of the gripped, as it does cuteness and inspiration. Damn if we haven’t all been there before. And the interesting part: That dialogue never really changes. We get stronger and the stakes get bigger, but we still need to torture ourselves before going for it. Fourth grader or fourth-grade teacher, for two minutes or for 20; when truly gripped by self-induced fear, the narrative arc stays the same:

Step 1: Belly up. Stand on the edge. Or sit at the base of the problem. Tie in and put your hands on the start holds. Whatever it is, one can’t really start this absurd routine until the very last possible moment. Any anxiety before then can be shunted by countless other distractions or choices. The only choice now is either send it or bail—or start squirming.

Step 2: Premature self-assurance. “C’mon, you got this.” “Here goes… something,” as the little ski jumper says. No kidding, here goes something is right. Only that “something going” won’t be you anytime soon, as you definitely do not “just got this.” If that were true—if it would all be as easy as saying “c’mon” to yourself—saying it wouldn’t be necessary. Nope, not ready, just pretending to be.

Step 3: Insignificant gear fixation. Ahh yes, now would be the perfect time to get spooked by a trivial equipment issue or other minor nit. Brush the hold you just brushed two seconds ago. Check brakes… again. Adjust harness, then subconsciously readjust it to where it was originally. Rub the life out of the point of a climbing shoe, as if substituting dirt with grease from your fingertips will really improve performance. “My skis are slipping off!” cries the little girl at the top of the ski jump, but her skis are the same as they were 10 minutes ago. Likewise, it’s not your gear but you who are slipping off the edge because you’re acting shifty and stiff.

Step 4: Beta begging. Since it’s quite clear that “the grip” of fear is taking hold and there’s nothing critically wrong with your equipment, it’s time to obsess over process. If a partner’s around, he or she becomes the target of an array of self-evident questions, which he or she (if a true and trustworthy partner) will answer supportively. If solo, now is the time for intense over-analysis of terrain. Stare at that bad landing or big gap. Stare at it! It looks worse up close, as always. This whole thing is so fucking stupid!

Step 5: Stall. The low point. Nothing new to stare at. All equipment has been touched, though not adjusted in any meaningful way. And the 17th “You got this” self-help session has really lost its bite. So just stand there and wallow. Avoid eye contact. Pray for some kind of hand-of-god intervention that would allow a justifiable retreat. Hey, is that rain?

Step 6: The nudging. The loyal partner, getting cold and/or bored, continues with the same lines of support and confidence, but with a noticeably different tone of voice. As in, believe it or not, there is more on the agenda today than watching you mentally fall apart. “C’mon” is no longer shorthand for “You can do it!” but “Come on and do it already.” Also, the best thing that could ever happen to a gripped adventurer without a partner would be the sudden appearance of newcomers, wanting to either observe—or better yet, send the line themselves. That fear of looking timid in front of strangers is a powerful, totally nonsensical motivator.

Step 7: Commit. Ironically, this is often the easiest part. No thinking really required… just living in the moment, doing it—on the way to the send or to the hospital. Either way, the act itself is surprisingly fast, and therefore not as terrifying as the preceding minutes of essentially questioning your entire interest in this dangerous sport.

Step 8: Chatter, NBD declaration. Assuming everything goes well, the moments immediately following the send are for making yahoo noises and blah blah blah-ing idle chatter to anyone who will listen — releasing the stress and anxiety brought on in the name of recreation. “Yes! Wow! Holy shit. Yes! Oh man, I was scared!” The late stages of this chatter must include at least one decree of “that wasn’t so bad” or “easier than I thought it would feel.” Lucky you. Though if it was a lot harder than expected, you’d probably be upside down and bleeding right now.

Step 9: Bliss out. After all that mental stress and physical exertion, after the endorphins wane, what’s left is a glowing, marginally functional victor, good for buying a round of beers and not much else. As Chuck Palahniuk wrote, “After a night in fight club, everything else in the real world gets the volume turned down. Nothing can piss you off. Your word is law.” Whether or not that line really was NBD, the rest of the world certainly is now, at least for a little while.

Ian Mathias is a writer based in Salt Lake City. Every year he contemplates quitting his fancy marketing job and becoming a part-time baker, part-time writer, but can’t bear the thought of waking up so early every day. Read more from him at the30x30.com.

I was seated on a rock amidst the loosely consolidated dirt of the southern-Utah desert after a long morning of climbing, and I was feeling mighty hangry. The only sustenance I carried in my chalky old pack was a cup of delicious strawberry yogurt. Eagerly, I peeled back the foil lid and reached for a spoon, only to discover there was no spoon! I felt stranded, with no way to stir that fruit-on-the-bottomy goodness or convey it to my pie hole.

How little we appreciate the simple functionality of a spoon until we find ourselves without one! And while foods like sandwiches, fruits, and trail mix yield handily to manual eating techniques, others, like yogurt, soups, and saucy pastas, pose more of a challenge in the absence of proper utensils.

Science has shown that our nearest evolutionary relative, the chimpanzee, is quite deft in the use of tools for accessing and ingesting food items. So, too, have modern climbers and other outdoors people devised ingenious eating implements out of necessity. I, for example, was able to fashion a primitive scoop from the flimsy foil circle I peeled from the top of my yogurt cup, giving me the precious energy needed to finish out the day and perhaps live on to spread my genes.

Following are a 10 clever cutlery workarounds spotted in the wild. What tricky tactics have you employed when caught without a spork?

Sticks – Among the most obvious improvisations, a well-selected stick, de-barked and whittled to varying degrees, can be used to spear and roast foods like hotdogs and marshmallows, scoop messy foods, and even to stir things like cocktails or coffee.

Toothbrushes chopsticks. Photo: Gail Rothschild

Toothbrushes – Most climbers carry old toothbrushes for banishing excess chalk from handholds. The rigid plastic stems can double as chopsticks—particularly handy for noodles or salads.

Rocks – A good sharp rock can serve as a knife, while a slightly scooped stone takes on spoon-like properties. Large, flat ones can even be used as makeshift frying pans or plates. Pro tip: brush off dirt, lichen, or bugs before using.

Carabiners – The quintessential climber bottle opener. There are many ways to pry open your favorite non-twist-off bottle of suds with a biner—just be sure you don’t cause any sizable gauges in the rope-bearing surface, as it could end up snaggletoothing your rope’s sheath.

Shoes – Hard to open without a purpose-made tool, a wine bottle can be made to give up its cork with repeated blows against a wall using a shoe as padding. Behold, this instructional video stands as proof:

Knives – An advanced technique known as “the lip splitter” involves using the blade of your Swiss army knife not only for cutting, but also spearing and scooping food into your mouth. Zen-like focus is required to avoid terrible injury.

Nut tools – Sometimes all you need is a way to shovel stuff out of the container and into your hungry face. A climber’s nut tool, with its flat metal end, can tackle this task quite handily. These tools can even be used to cut or spread soft cheeses or similar.

Tin foil – One friend of mine commented that he has used tin foil to make a cup, bowl, shot glass, and spoon. The origami skills required here are not as advanced as they might sound, depending on the food substance you’re looking to contain or manipulate. Getting peanut butter out of the jar with a foil tool, however, requires a working knowledge of engineering principles.

Tinfoil: you’re using it wrong.

Bread – In Ethiopia, the Middle East, and various other cultures, flatbreads are used to pinch and scoop deliciously messy foods. If you have a slice of rye, crackers, or a tortilla among your rations, you have with you an edible utensil! Pro tip: the under-appreciated heel of the bread loaf here becomes the hero, offering superior scooping power.

Fingers – When all else fails, we return to the original eating implement: our fingers. These marvels of engineering can manipulate a vast array of objects, including those stinky tinned sardines in oil you brought because someone told you they were high in protein and omega-3 fatty acids. Hopefully you didn’t forget your wet-wipes, too.

For the past three Outdoor Retailer shows, I’ve blogged about the longstanding prevalence of plaid shirts in the outdoor industry. This year, I was burned out; I didn’t want to talk about plaid any more. But as I walked the red-carpeted runways of the show last week, I realized I wasn’t alone—lots of people have had their fill of plaid and are ready for a change. So I’ll talk about that instead…

Perusing the show between meetings, some new trends began to take shape. Several plaidternatives were in evidence, from paisley to animal prints, vertical stripes to polka dots.

The simple solid color option, often in subdued grays, greens, and blues, was popular, too. Meanwhile, I noted quite a few button-up shirts with heathered yarns or herringbone weaves or other subtle textures. Several denim shirts were even in evidence.

As with many aspects of modern society, cultural fashion norms at the OR Show appear to be moving ever towards the informal. Where plaid, short-sleeve, button-front shirts once served as the “dress up shirt for the outdoor guy” (to quote Patagonia’s Kristo Torgerson), now wicking synthetic base layers and even T-shirts are becoming acceptable garb for meetings, especially among the younger crowd.

As I stopped passers-by in the crowd to snap photos of their plaidless ensembles, I asked a few why they had opted to leave the tartan tailoring at home.

“I wear paisley to the show because I don’t want to be just like everyone else,” said one gentleman. “I’ve been boycotting plaid at the show for years,” said another. It was a common refrain.

A confidential source whose spouse works at a prominent outdoor apparel brand confirmed that the coming season’s lines contain more solid colors and fewer plaids.

One friend went so far as to suggest that previous plaid exposés on The Stone Mind may have drawn attention to the trend, spurring self-conscious show-goers to seek other options. It seems unlikely that a lowly blog might move the needle on the outdoor industry’s entrenched plaidiction, but I suppose anything is possible.

Of course, plaid isn’t really dead, just a little less lively. Whereas a few years ago one out of every two men walking the Salt Palace during the OR Show were wearing plaid, now the ratio, by my unscientific methods, is more like one in five.

When I asked a designer for the Seattle-based brand Kavu if plaid was on the way out, she said, “No way—we still sell tons of plaid flannel shirts,” adding that the palette has shifted: towards brighter plaids, comprised of primary or neon colors.

“I love plaid!” declared Sam Krieg, of Krieg Climbing and Cycling, as the show wrapped up. “Seriously. I really do.”

When I was a kid, my dad wanted me to be a stand-up comedian. Among the many corny jokes he told at the dinner table to inspire me towards this career path was this one, which for some reason stuck with me:

A man was in his home when a hurricane blew into town bringing with it high winds and torrential rain. A pair of cops came by in waders and asked him to evacuate.

“No thanks, officers,” he said. “My life is in God’s hands.”

So the police left and the rain continued to fall. A few hours later and the water was up above the first floor of the man’s house, so the man went upstairs. At that point, a woman came by in a rowboat.

“Let’s go!” she shouted in the man’s window.

“No thank you, ma’m,” he replied. “My life is in God’s hands.”

So the woman floated off in her boat and the rain continued to fall. A few hours later, the water had filled up the second floor of the man’s house, so he climbed onto the roof. Finally, a helicopter flew over and lowered a rope.

“Grab the rope; we’ll rescue you!” said the medic in the helicopter, speaking into a megaphone.

“No thank you!” screamed the man through the howling wind, “My life is in God’s hands!”

So the water continued to rise and, eventually, the man was swept away and drowned.

Up in heaven, the man came before God.

“Why did you forsake me, God?” the man implored. “My life was in your hands!”

“What do you want from me?” God replied. “I sent you a police escort, a rowboat, a helicopter…”

Whether you believe in a higher power or not, what I take from this is that we shouldn’t expect things to be done for us. No one will save us if we won’t save ourselves — not our family, our boss, the government, a religious institution, or just the world in general.

The best we can expect is a chance to do things for ourselves. If we’re lucky, we’ll encounter many windows of opportunity in our lives and it is up to us to go through them, to make something of them… Or to not make anything of them and then complain about it.

Sometimes that sidetrack turns out to be the key to something big. Sometimes that person you meet, that letter you write, the event you attend makes all the difference. But only if you let it. Only if you act.

Who knows, maybe someday I’ll get an opportunity to become a stand-up comedian, just like pop always wanted.